


Secret Garden

by Anonymous



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Egg Laying, Extreme Filth, F/M, Other, Oviposition, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacles, kind of mpreg if you squint, non-con elements because of the tentacles but in a ‘violated but loving it’ kind of way, this is actually a LoVe fic...I swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25636402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Logan and Veronica are on the grounds of the old Echolls estate. It has been years since the fire, so who knows WHAT is growing out there, now.Because every fandom deserves some filthy, fun tentacle porn.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Tentacle Monster, Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars, Veronica Mars/Tentacle Monster
Comments: 29
Kudos: 32
Collections: Anonymous





	Secret Garden

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Post-S3 AU, some vague, hand-wavey time after graduating from college, Logan and Veronica are a couple. 
> 
> Please read the tags before proceeding! I intend this particular version of tentacle/ovi to be filthy but more in a light-hearted way as opposed to dark or disturbing in tone, but your mileage may certainly vary. 
> 
> This is recklessly un-beta’d, likely terribly OOC, wildly anatomically impossible, and pure filth. I apologize for nothing. Enjoy! 

After the fire, the Echolls estate had been left to rot. Hidden from prying neighbors by large, encircling walls and a high gate, the grounds and the crumbled, burned structure of the house are giving Veronica distinct Thornfield Hall vibes. Glancing over at Logan, next to her, grim-faced as he wades through the thigh-high chaparral brush that has taken over the back slope, she reluctantly cuts short her mental attempts at casting the mad wife in the attic in favor of a more neutrally supportive girlfriend vibe.

“Okay, so that was the east side lawn. How far back did you want to go over here?”

“I didn’t want to go _back_ at all.” Logan is using that light, biting voice that says he’s pissed off at everything—himself, the world and the fact that he’s back here in a place Veronica knows he never wanted to see again. “If I had my way, we’d just run a bulldozer through here and rip everything down.”

_And we didn’t because…?_

“Well, just one quick lesson on driving an earth mover and one of those cute hard hats, and I’d be happy to handle that for you, Sweet Cheeks.” 

Logan huffs a laugh, but continues plowing grimly forward instead of joining in the banter. 

_Ruh roh_.

Unfortunately, Logan vs. ancestral manse is a reckoning that’s been coming for quite a while, and there’s not much Veronica can do to soften it. After years of Logan simply ignoring the property's existence, a series of increasingly indignant and litigious letters from Balboa County, alleging hazardous conditions and code violations, as well as time, distance and therapy, had finally prompted him to put the lot and burned house up for sale last year. Unfortunately, his attempt to sell “as is” had been met with so much legal brangling and back-and-forths that a year later it still sat unlisted. It had become painfully obvious that some "clearing out" would have to be done, and, since anything still on the grounds was part of the Echolls inheritance trust and would benefit the children’s charity Logan funded, he’d reluctantly agreed to an inventory all of the statuary, movie memorabilia, and potentially valuable plants and trees still scattered around the back half of the lot, long-neglected but untouched by the fire. 

Not that that fully explains what they’re doing here by themselves on a rare free Saturday, grimly marching the back forty. 

A few steps further down the slope, the brush abruptly gives way to an oddly symmetrical round clearing and they both stop for a breath. For the first time since they left the driveway, they are standing on smooth, packed ground. In fact, it almost looks like it has been raked recently, which is ridiculous. No one has been on this part of the property since the fire—probably even before that. _Speaking of…_

Veronica cocks her head at Logan. “Weren’t we supposed to be meeting an appraiser?”

“As the wise man said, nothing gets done right if you don’t do it yourself, Veronica.” Logan shrugs in a casual-elaborate way that clearly communicates he cancelled the appraiser’s presence for this first trip back to the land of nightmares, but is never going to admit it. Veronica rolls her eyes and moves on, shading her eyes with one hand as she looks around.

“What on earth is that?” She points at a plant-like mass in the center of the odd clearing, looming up in front of them. 

“I don’t know. I think we are where Lynne’s exotic plant garden was, so probably something weird and expensive as fuck.”

“Exotic...plants?”

“Yeah, she was really into them for like six months and then...” Logan trails off with another shrug. He steps up to the weirdly sinuous looking plant, which is almost twice as tall as Veronica. It definitely looks foreign—lacking the dry, spiny, dusty-sage coloration of most of the local plants. It’s an odd, vibrant green, made up of a dense mass of thick, twisting...vines? Tendrils? Like leafless kudzu, twisted over and over itself until it’s impossible to tell what interior structure is giving it height and bulk. 

Veronica edges a little closer, as well, fascinated by the way the plant seems to be emitting a strange resonance. Like...like...something between a sound and a vibration? _What_ is _that?_

“Careful, babe,” says Logan, casually. He’s circled around to the far side of the plant, out of sight. “You don’t know what kinds of animals are living in there.” 

“Yeah, but don’t you feel it?” She calls back. 

“What?”

The plant _is_ putting out something enticing. Some signal. Veronica can feel it raising the hairs on her arms. Half of her brain is screaming at her to step back. Run away. She doesn’t even like plants! 

She steps closer.

“Loga—oOh, shit!”

She looks down as a green tendril...thing shoots out of the plant mass, snakes around her ankle, and then gives a sharp yank, throwing her off balance. Veronica lands hard on the ground, losing her breath, and unable to fight the thing now reeling her in. Somewhere on its other side, Logan cries out as well. She tries to turn toward him, but the central bulk of the plant is loosening and more vines and tendrils coil out, reeling her in and wrapping her up as she struggles and kicks. 

Well...actually, _some_ of the vines are wrapping her up, while some of them are...exploring her body? Yeah. They're moving less like vines and more like, uh, well, like tentacles—smooth and cool and almost rubbery in a terrifyingly alien way. Veronica works one arm free enough to swat at a tentacle that is sliding under her shirt, but it evades her and, then, in a slashing-quick movement, rips through her shirt to pin her arm back down. Her shirt falls away in tatters, built-in shelf bra with it, and Veronica is bare from the waist up. 

She opens her mouth to yell something—god knows what, perhaps: _excuse me, I did not sign up for the hentai option this afternoon!_ —and one of the exploratory tendrils works its way into her mouth. She gags, spitting, trying to dislodge it but...actually. It’s not that bad? Yeah...there’s kind of a sweet taste to it, somehow? Veronica chases a bit of whatever sap the vine is dripping with her tongue. It’s like really grassy honey. And...despite the tendril cramming into her mouth she can breathe just fine and everything feels...whoa. Good. Wow. 

“Veronica!”

She wriggles a little, setting more comfortably into the tentacle mass, which loosens a bit around her, its hold now more supportive than confining as she sucks eagerly on the vine in her mouth. She smiles, and the honey vine slips away, painting a slick trail down her torso that sends shivery goosebumps of pleasure coursing over her. _Yeahhh, this IS good.  
_

“VERONICA!” Logan’s frantic cries break into her pleasurable haze. _I’d like to see him, please._ The plant shifts her around so she can see her boyfriend for the first time since she got snagged. He’s wrapped up in his own mass of vines, struggling, and, while he still has his shirt, somewhere along the way he’s lost his jeans and one shoe and sock. His wide eyes meet hers, frantic, he gets out “VER—“ before a vine works into his mouth as well. He sags, body going limp, eyes dreamy. 

Veronica smiles again. That’s...that seems good, too. If Logan is feeling what she’s feeling—this heavy, pulsating buzz all over, sending ripples through her skin, making even the brush of the breeze feel amazingly sensual—then yeah, she wants that for Logan. Wants that _with_ Logan. 

The cool weight of the tentacles slithers over her as she watches him sink into the vines’ embrace, and it feels amazing, calming her burning skin, sliding across tingling nipples and then further down. Veronica lets out a moan loud enough to shock a nearby bird into flight and the realization that she’s somehow fully naked now is a lot more incidental than it really should be. The very tip of the vine teases almost delicately through her pubic hair, tickling the hood of her clit. She’s dripping, now, and the vine is too, apparently, because obscene squelching sounds rise up as the vine explores, playing with her, trying out different spots and different pressures until she is shaking, almost howling with the need to have something _inside._ The need to be full. _In me! Get IN ME._

The tentacle slides slowly across the lips of her cunt and she bucks into it, trying to ride it—if she could just get some friction— _God, I need…_

Finally, the tentacle enters her, cool and fat, and her body simultaneously bucks into it and away from it in sheer animal need. It keeps pushing in, wriggling in a way that is wholly unlike anything she’s ever felt before. God, it feels like it’s hitting every nerve in her—the heavy mass sliding over her clit as it works its way further and further into her channel, deeper. Deeper than anything has ever been.

And then it starts to thrust. 

Veronica wails, plunging into a fast, sharp orgasm that spikes through her with a stunning intensity. Gasping deeply, she immediately grinds down again, hungry for more, as the plant hoists her higher. 

She’s relaxed and pliant now, as two more tentacles join the first, stuffing her wider than the fattest cock could, while a thinner one teases at her rear entrance. _God yes, I need to be fuller. So full._ She’s a little more clear-headed, now, after that climax, and she tunes in to what is going on with Logan, visible only in profile. 

He’s stopped suckling the honey vine and is floating in the grasping embrace of the plant, limp and relaxed and fully naked while the tentacles caress his torso and his nipples, his cock plump and twitching. _His neck,_ she thinks. _He likes it on his neck._ One vine works its way up to Logan’s throat, the tip flicking sharply against his skin in a quick smack that makes him gasp and arch. Then another. Veronica stares at the red mark left behind, feeling smug.

Meanwhile, the other tentacles are exploring him lower down, almost teasingly lifting and jiggling his sack, curling around his thighs and feet. In response, Logan is alternately grunting loudly—those deep guttural sounds of pleasure she loves to wring from him—and giggling. Whatever the plant’s honey-sap-stuff is, it seems to be making him more giddy than Veronica feels. She just feels...god, amazing—riding the high of her last orgasm, while trembling on the verge of the next one, tentacles still writhing in her, spreading her open—she feels fucking powerful. Like a goddess. She could do this forever. 

“Hey now,” Logan giggles at a tentacle wriggling between his legs, “Where’r you going, little buddy? That’s strictly an exit onlyyy—ooh. Oh. Uh, damn. I guess it’s not—shiiiiit. _Damn_ that feels good.” 

“Veronica!” He calls, happily, “Did you _feel_ this? We have clearly been neglecting some _necessary_ additions to our boudoir routine.” She grunts, her attention now pretty firmly captured by the trio of tentacles inside her as they start to stretch her in a way that feels amazing. Logan keeps babbling. “The next time we get naked I _insist_ on—ah—more ass play. Seriously, Sugar, we need to buy you—OH!—buy you a big fat cock and let you go to town on me. I had no idea what I’ve been missing.” 

He cries out, long and loud, just as Veronica peaks in a small orgasm, almost too brief to be satisfying. The plant hoists both of them higher and turns them to face each other, jerking them toward each other, like an impatient toddler forcing Barbie and Ken to kiss. Logan, now only inches away, looks fucking gorgeous, flushed and strung out, his entire body stretched taut against the mass of tangled vines thrusting gently into him. Come is splashed all over his torso, treasure trail, even the underside of his chin, but his cock is still flushed a dark red and straining hard against his belly. 

He’s amazing. 

Just as she’s reaching out to caress Logan’s face, the trio of tentacles inside Veronica suddenly withdraw and she growls in frustration, pushing down, wriggling, trying to recapture the fullness. She’s not _done_ , dammit—ah, there! A single tentacle slides back into her. She can’t see it, but it feels thicker and more textured than the others, almost ridged. _For my pleasure,_ she thinks gleefully, as it fills her up. And it _is_ a pleasure. Holy shit.

This one slides slowly deeper, ridges rubbing her over-stimulated tissues in a way that makes her eyes roll back in her head for endless minutes. Then, suddenly, the tentacle starts to expand inside her, fattening up steadily but inexorably, and stretching her beyond anything she could have imagined. She can feel a...bulge of some sort inside the tentacle, pressing against her cunt, working its way inside. Her mouth gapes open. 

“Veronica,” Logan slurs, as he reaches out to cup her breasts—his arms free now as the tentacle mass shifts to support both of their torsos and legs. He tweaks and pulls at her nipples sharply, just the way she likes, as she bucks against the widening tentacle bulge—so wide now that it feels like it is pressing on both the inside and outside of her clit simultaneously. She’s rocking her hips frantically trying to take more, more, as it swells wider and wider. 

They are both panting loudly, mouths open, gasping, inches away, and they finally fall together in a sloppy kiss, mouths snagging and trading honeyed spit back and forth. The sense of connection between them in that moment almost brings tears to Veronica's eyes. It’s so good, she’s so— Veronica breaks away, as the tentacle inside her widens even further, reaching the crisis point where she can’t take—surely she can’t—ah, _CAN’T—_

She combusts into an intense orgasm, sparkles filling her field of vision as something solid drops low and heavy inside her, a cool weight, keeping her open and full, even as the tentacle shrinks. God, she’s so wet. She can feel the vine slowly withdrawing, pumping fluids inside her as it retreats, filling her up and gushing down her legs. 

She’s never been this simultaneously tired and energized in her life, like she could either nap forever or run a marathon, and whichever one happens doesn’t matter much to her at all. That honey-sap is some good shit. They should bottle and sell it. 

When her vision finally clears, Veronica is cradled loosely in the plant, no longer grasped, but held up gently. Meanwhile, inches away, Logan is still ensnared, the twisty mass of vines that had been working his ass replaced by a single tentacle of his own—larger and darker than the others, with a single fat bulge moving steadily down it, traveling towards his body. 

Veronica shifts, feeling her own bulge inside her, distending her belly. _He’s going to need a hand._

She reaches out and wraps her palm around Logan’s blood-hot cock. Logan jerks, moaning, seeming torn between thrusting into her hand, and keeping the rhythm of the tentacle steadily thrusting into him from behind. He looks primal and glorious and wrecked. As she speeds up her rhythm, he shudders extra hard, moaning her name, and when she looks back she can see that the bulge in his vine has reached him now and is working steadily into his hole. His eyes widen and lock onto her, mouth gaping as he stretches around the fat bulge. She speeds up her hand even more, palm slipping in the honey-sap and come coating him, frantic to help him get there, help him…

Logan lets out a strangled cry, eyes rolling back in his head and explodes in her hand, shaking and shuddering and then going limp. 

.

.

.

Logan blinks his eyes, squinting at the sun, before heaving himself lazily off the ground. Somewhere behind him, a quiet _zzzzzzippp_ sound seems like it should draw his attention. It doesn’t. He’s much more concerned about taking care of—he looks around—there’s Veronica. 

He moves the few feet over to her, feeling oddly swaybacked and walking in a rolling rhythm to accommodate his distended gut—a state of affairs which seems just as completely natural and right as his nudity does. Veronica stretches up from her prone position, smiling, dusting dirt off of her own belly and stretching. God she’s so beautiful. Every once in a while he gets hit with this just pure wave of awe that she is with him, that they are together, and seeing her like this, yeah. He’s a lucky SOB. 

In silent accord, they stagger off together, with no specific destination in mind. Logan just feels a driving desire to move. To go...somewhere else. With every movement, the weight inside him—the _egg,_ he can’t help thinking, the _egg_ —shifts and sends sparks up his spine. He can feel it, heavy and low in his gut, and it is weirdly pleasurable. Like the intense ache of relief when you finally release an over-full bladder. Veronica, a few steps behind, is quietly grunting as she moves as well, suggesting she’s enjoying her own discomfort. 

As they reach a small grove of trees, Veronica suddenly gasps, and Logan whips around to see her cradling the small swell in her belly, her eyes wide and hips beginning to rock. “I think it’s...it’s...ooooh!” 

Logan moves to her swiftly, coming up behind her to wrap her in his arms and support her body weight.

“It's coming out?” he murmurs, settling his own curving belly against her back, rubbing her hips and sides. It makes sense, feels right, that the egg is coming out. _What goes in, must come out._ He kisses the side of Veronica’s neck as she pants, working her hips even deeper, starting to squat, her noises unquestionably pleasurable. Murmuring praise in her ear— _so beautiful Veronica, always so gorgeous_ —he slides a hand up to tweak her nipples, hard, and she huffs out another breath, sinking lower, a thick, viscous fluid leaking steadily out of her and sliding down her thighs. 

“Feel good, baby?”

“Mmhmm...god, yes. I can feel it...everywhere, so everywhere. Up against me... Need to… need to…”

Still supporting her from behind, Logan drops to a kneeling position and holds Veronica under her arms as she squats lower in the shade of a short, gnarled tree. He rubs her belly, feeling the muscles beneath his palm clenching hard, in waves, as she works to push out the egg, keening with pleasure.

Veronica is working, snapping her hips so hard now that she almost overbalances, throwing her arms out to catch herself, palms slapping in the dirt, as Logan moves back to support her hips. She growls through the next contraction, ass in the air, voice starting out low and filthy and going high and breathless by the end. 

Logan reaches down between her legs, careful as he touches her over-stretched, tender cunt. “I can feel it coming,” he encourages, as his fingertips brush against a cool, bumpy surface. It feels so alien, encased in Veronica’s familiar wet warmth. “Almost there, baby.” 

He glides his fingers across her clit. One more big grunt and an intense, erotic cry from Veronica, and the egg pushes out of her, followed by a last gush of fluid. Logan, catching Veronica as she sags, barely has the time to notice that the outside of the egg is green and almost fibrous looking, before all of his attention is on his girlfriend. The egg rolls to the ground, unnoticed. 

They’re sprawled in the dirt, Veronica splayed out on top of Logan, cooing and rubbing her sweat-slick body against him in small motions as though working herself down from a high. His cock plumps up as Veronica grinds on top of him and she feels amazing, except she’s pushing herself against his belly, shifting the egg that— _oh shit, forgot about that_ —still sits heavy inside of him. He is aware all over again of a stuffed, tight feeling deep inside, and the beginning of an urge to push. “Veronica…” he arches up against her, “I…” 

“Mm,” she smiles and raises a shaking hand to push her sweaty, tangled hair out of her eyes. “Your turn?” 

“Yeah, I think so, I—” he arches again, involuntarily, something inside of him shifting in a way that hurts so fucking good. He pushes, god, he _needs_ to, but the mass inside him barely moves. “Need to get up,” he pants, and Veronica slides off of him, offering a hand to haul him up. 

Logan paces toward a tree as his abdomen tightens, and relaxes, the intense urge to bear down mingling with incredible pleasure. How does this feel so _good_? He places a palm to the rough bark of the tree and rubs his belly, groaning as that pushes a gush of fluid out of him. “God, we are definitely taking a trip to the Sex-porium after this.”

“You like it,” Veronica murmurs, coming up behind him, scratching her nails into the small of his back. “You like being stuffed full.”

“Yes—” He clenches again, thighs shivering, dripping. “God—more than I can—it won’t stop, Veronica. It seems like yours went faster.” 

She shrugs, “Different anatomy. Come on, c’mere.” 

She guides him down into a deep squat, one hand clasped in hers, one against the tree for balance, and he begins a sort of bouncing motion, shuddering in intense pleasure as every bounce brushes the egg lower across his prostate before his muscles suck it back up inside him. Fuck. He’s torn between wanting this to go on forever and needing to rush through it right now. 

Logan keeps working, rolling his hips, planting his feet, and heaving until his whole body is trembling and Veronica runs her hands over him as time spins out interminable. 

Eventually, he finds himself on his back, sprawled in the dirt. Veronica, kneeling in front of him, hitches one of his legs up on her shoulder and he gazes at her across the swell of his clenching belly and the fierce jut of his straining cock. Her face is flushed and she looks incredibly turned on as she reaches between his legs. “Shit, look at you, Logan. Look at you.” He can feel her trace a gentle finger around his rim where it strains, muscles fluttering and clenching to push out the egg.

“S’big,” he says, licking his lips.

“Mmhm, it’s almost there, Logan, you’re so, god, so strong and gorgeous.... Let me help.” 

“Yes, yes, yes!” He babbles, ready for it to be over. _Needing_ it. 

“Ready?” 

Veronica hoists his leg higher and more securely into the crook of her shoulder and then takes both hands and pushes down on his belly, just above the egg, joining the pull of his internal muscles in a force so powerful he can hear himself howl. The egg finally slides fully down his passage, rubbing its bumps along his prostate with every inch, stretching his rim until it burns—so good. When the contraction ends, Veronica pulls her hands away and he falls back, panting and dizzy, gasping at the incredible feeling of the egg, now stuck half-way in and half-way out of his body, stretching him beyond anything, beyond thought. 

“C’mon one more, one more, Logan.”

“Can’t.” He pants, rolling his hips. 

“You can.” Veronica reaches out and grasps his cock, jacking him fast and hard as Logan screams, red-faced. Just the thought of it...lying here in the dirt with her pleasuring him, egg obscenely protruding from his ass and brushing against the sensitive insides of his thighs, has him rocketing into the most intense orgasm of his life, spurting so hard he blacks out as the clenching waves of his orgasm finally squeeze the egg out. 

He collapses, limp. 

.

.

.

It’s weird to be back on the old estate again. Even though Logan grew up here, the grounds are big enough that there are whole chunks he’s either never been to, or forgotten about. He stretches and absently looks around, brushing the dirt off his bare ass. 

Logan absolutely didn’t want to come here ever again—and definitely not with a prying snivelly appraiser along for the ride. But he’s glad it was just him and Veronica, today, checking out the property. He knows he’d started out the day pretty pissy, but now...there’s just something about spending the day with Veronica alone, just the two of them, that is incredibly relaxing and invigorating at the same time so now he feels...pretty good, actually. Logan grins as his gaze finds Veronica staring kind of blankly off into the distance, the pale curves of her bare body beautiful in the golden afternoon light. 

It’s a hot day and they really got sweaty and dirty somehow. Logan can hear the rushing sound of the waterfall pool, so they must be near the Greek folly Aaron had built to celebrate the anniversary of _Clash of Empires_ , his cheesy sword-and-sandals flick. He looks around, and yep, imported olive trees.

“C’mere, Veronica, we can rinse off over here.” 

She snaps out of her daze, perking up immediately. “I remember this place!” He can hear the pad of her feet and then she races past him, grinning, “Last one in…”

Logan sprints after her, grabbing her around the waist, hoisting her up, and jumping both of them into the deep end of the pool. He luxuriates in the feeling of the water washing away all of the dirt and sweat and soothing the intense soreness he feels after their afternoon hike. The pool is just as he remembers—water fresh and clean, birds chirping, a small lizard darting around the waterfall from faux-rock to faux-rock while they splash each other and play and finally float, lazily on the surface. 

He stretches one arm across the water to Veronica, muscles in his side and gut twinging a bit. “We walked a lot today, I guess. How do you feel?”

“Good. Sore, but, yeah, great, actually. I must have needed the exercise. I am going to be _so_ sunburned, though,” Veronica murmurs, lazily lifting her head and looking around. “Do you remember where we left our clothes?” 

For some reason he doesn’t, but that’s not a problem. “I’m pretty sure there’s a tub of old stuff in the pool house.” Logan sloshes across the pool and hoists himself out near a structure that looks like a miniature temple. Only a little of the false marble stonework has fallen from the incredibly tacky pediment. Inside, he finds a plastic tub with the stash of clothes he remembers, and they both giggle and swap around options until they are clothed, albeit looking like members of S Club 7 who suddenly got swole. 

Now dressed, they leave the Greek folly behind, cutting towards the house and the front gate and Logan can't help another smile. 

“You know what, Veronica, this turned out to be a weirdly fun day. Thank you for coming with me.” He leans down to plant a smacking kiss on her lips and she grins at him in return. 

“It did.” 

They link hands as they wander out of the olive grove, stepping unseeingly over two small plants, exotic and unfamiliar looking, that have taken root in the shade of one of the trees. A small tendril tickles Logan’s ankle as they brush by, hand in hand, their minds on nothing more complicated than finding the car, what to eat for dinner, and maybe a visit to the Sex-porium on the way home.


End file.
